Aftermath
by subseeker
Summary: After John's match against Lesnar, Randy goes to him to give some comfort. A Centon one-shot (no smut) and better than the summary ;D Takes place after Summerslam 2014.


Another little Centon-something, because there's just not enough Centon in this world…

This ship will be the death of me one day… when I go down with it at the lastest ;)

Well, have fun with this little piece of fiction and I hope you'll like it!

* * *

Randy walks along the corridors, a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. The whole building hums with life, people are celebrating inside and outside, the staff is busy with doing whatever and his co-workers are getting ready for the aftershow party. A party that will take place without him. Summerslam 2014 has been great he hears people say and yes, it has really been good, still he doesn't feel like celebrating. And he knows there is someone else who feels alike. And he guesses that _doesn't feel like celebrating_ is an understatement when it comes to how… John… feels.

Walking around a corner, his feet suddenly stop and when he looks up, he knows why. His eyes find the door to John's locker room immediately. It's closed, just like it has been half an hour ago when he has been standing here… uncertain about what to do. There have been times when he wouldn't have lost the tiniest of thoughts of he should walk right in there or not, but… things have changed. A long time ago already. And fuck, he misses those times, so very badly. The thing is, they don't really have issues with one another, it's more as if they just have lost each other in what is their lifes. Or what their lifes have become. Differences and no time to talk about it. No time at all to talk much at all. Stress. Drastic changes in both their lifes.

Almost like… for years they have been walking side by side, hand in hand and for one second they haven't been paying attention and suddenly the hand that has been warmed by another is empty and the _one being_… is gone.

He knows John feels the same because he can see it in those beautiful cerulean eyes. I miss you. It's written in them so often. Still they are walking different ways instead of simply reaching out and take the others hand again. His hand though itches this very moment. To open this door and do what he has always done in the past. Be there when John needs him.

One can't forget how to be a friend. Right?

His feet move again, carrying him forward, towards the door… but they don't stop at the threshold, walk past the door instead and towards the exit of the building. And yes, he is a coward, a miserable shadow of a former best friend. Bowing his head a little, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and takes a deep breath against the pang of sadness in his chest, but the further he walks away, the deeper he has to breathe.

Five meters. Six maybe. Before he finds himself unable to take even one more step. But here he stands now, torn, because there is this part of him that longs for John, cries to go to him, while the other part of him says that he's not welcome in there. Go in there or go to the hotel. He has no fucking idea what to do and with a shaky breath he tilts his head back, blinks against a suspicious burning in his eyes.

Eyes which should have never let John out of sight in the first place… Metaphorically spoken.

But really, he won't be welcome in there. Nikki is with John and there is no place for Randy left in their little bubble of togetherness. This woman has taken Randy's place at John's side in every way possible. As a friend. A partner.

A lover.

Randy's free hand clenches to a fist while he stands there. He can still hear it, those words John has once whispered to him.

One day we can be together. Really be together. With a house and a yard, a dog, a cat. With anything you want. A few years, babe. I love you and nothing can change that.

Back then Randy would never have risked his own career by getting out of the closet. There has been no reason to do it, because this thing between them has worked. Being co-workers, best friends. Being partners and lovers when nobody saw it. And just like that it was over, as if someone has flipped a switch. To be fair, it was both their fault that it has happened.

They are still friends… well, the most basic version and without all the rights and duties the being best friends brings along and it makes Randy feel naked. So often in the past months he has been standing on front of John's locker when the corridors have been empty, laying a hand on the door, always whispering the same things.

I miss your touch. I miss your warmth. I miss _you_, Johnny…

Pathethic? Maybe. Yet it is what he feels, what eats him up. How long he will be able to go on like this? He has no idea…

Turning around, his gaze fixes on the door while he gnaws at his bottom lip and his heart stumbles in his chest as he takes a hesitant step closer. And another. And a third. Stops as he suddenly hears voices in there, getting louder, sharper. Angry. The door opens and a wave of nasty words spills out of the room, floods the corridor and with it a pissed looking Nikki stomps out, not noticing the confused one-man audience named Randy.

"You goddamn self-centered bastard!" Nikki yells and kicks the door hard enough to make it crash against the wall.

"You knew what you got yourself into, Nikki," John says and although his voice is loud and angry, he is far from yelling.

In fact he sounds as if he has barely enough energy left to keep his voice this loud at all. The note which is lying in this voice is bitter, crestfallen, the exhaustion too audibly in it.

"Fuck you, Cena!" she spits, spins around and runs off.

And Randy… stand there. Blinking. Breathing. Waiting if John comes out, too, but nothing happens. Seconds. Half a minute. Still nothing. Randy takes a look around, letting his eyes jump over the still ongoing busyness and no one here cares. Not that Randy is standing here for minutes already like some lost still-life, nor that there has just happened a soap-opera-worthy dispute between WWE's poster couple.

Nobody cares.

Well, that's not quite true, is it? Randy cares. Still. For John. And so he walks over to the open door and right into the room. What he finds there tears at his heart, the image of John how he sits there on the bench with his elbows braced on his knees, one hand dangling between them while the other covers his eyes. The broad shoulders are tense, drawn up a little as if he wants to shield himself. And maybe it is exactly what he wants, shield himself from everything around him.

_I can do that for you, Johnny… _Randy thinks and wishes he could just walk over to John and pull him into a hug… like they have used to do.

Instead he closes the door quietly and its sound draws a weary sigh from the other man.

"Nikki… can't you just leave me alone?" John mutters weakly.

Randy hesitates for a moment, before he slowly approaches John, letting the duffel bag drop to the ground carelessly.

It is almost ridiculous how he has to fight with himself to speak and when he does, his own voice sounds small: "Don't worry, I don't think you'll have to deal with her in the next few days."

John's reaction is immediate. He tenses even more and the hand that has covered his eyes droppes, accompanying the one between his knees and just as Randy thinks he will be send away, John turns his head ever so slightly towards him, a sad little smile ghosting on his lips.

"Why are you here?"

The question is spoken carefully and even a bit shyly.

"Why should I not be here?" Randy asks as he sits down beside John, mirroring the way John sits there. "You never asked me that back then."

John nods softly, frowns and turns his head a bit more, meeting Randy's gaze with guarded eyes and although there is a certain distance between them, Randy feels good somehow, because John allows him to sit here. Isn't it strange that after being best friends and even more for such a long time, even if there has been a dry spell for a while now, that this now feels so much like new territory?

"Yeah…" John murmurs, the sad little smile from his lips now also showing in his eyes.

The old times are missed sorely and not only from his own side, Randy realizes. Good. It feels like hope.

"Your match against Roman was great, Ortz."

A sting in his chest and a sharp tug at his heart makes Randy swallow hard as John adresses him with this name and he takes it and holds it close to his heart.

"Thanks. Well, yeah, the boy has a great future and man, his spear pushes your lung right up your throat," Randy chuckles and John joins in.

This, too, feels like hope. But as fast as it has come, the chuckle dies on the other man's lips, replaced by a low groan and John lifts a hand to his neck, rubbing it gingerly. Randy feels his own hands twitch to reach up and alleviate John's pain.

Interlacing his fingers to keep himself from touching John, he says hushed: "Lesnar whipped your ass thoroughly out there."

The gaze of those baby blues drops to the floor and the answer he gets is a snort. A bitter one. Followed by a brief moment of silence.

"Yeah," John sighs then and Randy can hear the disappointment and resignation in this sigh. "Yeah, he did."

Randy's mind jumps back to when he has been standing backstage, staring at a monitor and a match that was more a MMA fight than a wrestling match. And he remembers all too well the bad feeling that has been tingling at the base of his skull.

"He was a bit too eager for my taste," Randy adds.

"Too eager, huh? I don't know what his problem was, but it hasn't been supposed to go like that."

Tightening his hold on his own fingers to the point of being painful as the urge to touch John becomes almost overwhelming, he asks very, very quietly: "You okay?"

No answer, only blue eyes closing and another sigh.

"John?"

"Huh, what do you think, Ortz? Every damn fiber of my body hurts like hell."

"Johnny…"

His voice is soft and he sees John furrow his brows as he says this long unspoken pet-name. And he knows that John knows very well that he doesn't mean his body, but his head and his heart.

"No. No, I'm not okay," John admits in a voice so quite that it's just above a whisper.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"There isn't much to talk about. I looked like a fucking ragdoll out there while he kicked my ass around. He was supposed to win and he did. End of the story. I'll get over it. I always do."

The statement is spoken much too sober to be healthy.

_Yeah, you always do, but the prize is high,_ Randy thinks bitterly.

"Nikki was pretty angry…" he says instead, changing the topic because he knows John doesn't want to talk about the match, although the choice of the new topic is admittedly questionable.

Opening his eyes again, John gives him a quick side-glance and on those lips he sees a crooked little something that, with goodwill, can be called a smile.

"I asked her to leave me alone but she just wouldn't go."

"Well, she's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"My girlfriend," John huffs. "She doesn't stick to the deal. I can't stand having her close to me right now and she's angry about it."

"Deal?" Randy asks confused. "What deal?"

"Our relationship isn't real." The words leave John's mouth in a weary breath and he sags a bit, leans over to Randy until their shoulders touch. Deliberately or not, who cares. All that matters is that he does it and the spot where John's shoulder touches Randy's suddenly gets ridiculously warm. "It's all for the show. And suddenly she says that she has fallen in love with me. But I don't love her. At least not that way."

Randy doesn't even know what to say. John and Nikki pretend to be in a relationship for the show. All of it a lie. Uhm, okay? Should he be shocked now? Surprised? Angry, because John hasn't told him about it?

"I didn't want to tell anyone about it," he hears the other man murmur and now he actually feels something tug at his insides, yet it isn't anger but disappointment.

"We've been best friends for more than a decade, Johnny. And now I'm anyone?"

He sounds miffed to his own ears and chides himself for it, since he has come here to make John feel better, not to blame him. The pressure against his shoulder increases ever so slightly.

"No. Gosh, no, you're not anyone but… I… fuck, I don't know. Things were complicated and then you and Kim…" John more stammers than anything else. "And I…"

And this sentence also is not finished, but Randy understands nevertheless. They have drifted apart, haven't talked to each other anymore and then John gives his okay to a stupid fake relationship, doesn't tell him about it and in turn he gives in to Kim because he thinks that he has lost John...

"I would never have started anything with Kim if I had known that your relationship with Nikki is nothing but fake," he mumbles, sees guilt fleet over the other man's face. "I only did that because the one person I loved decided to go all poster couple with a Bella Twin."

There is more guilt and a moment of silence but before John can say something, it's Randy's phone that rips right through that silence like a rusty knife and Randy screws his eyes shut, curses under his breath because it's Kim's message tone. He takes a look at the screen and sighs heavily.

"Randy?"

"It's Kim. She wanted to surprise me and is waiting for me in the parking lot." John nods and Randy sighs again, because he doesn't want to go. He wants to stay here and do whatever it takes to see John laugh, really laugh again. He doesn't want to go now because he has just found a way to John again. He wants to stay here even if it means to sit side by side in silence for the whole night. All that matters is John. "Sorry, I… huh, I haven't come here to make your mood worse. I just wanted to be there for you, you know? I miss you. I miss my best friend and I couldn't just go after what has happened tonight but I think I just won an award for the worst comforter of all times."

John looks at him, blinks. And laughs. A real if tiny laughter that makes Randy's heart light despite everything. Maybe he hasn't just failed completely. Still he doesn't want to go.

"Admittedly you need a little practice," John says then, the laughter still lacing into his voice. "But I feel a bit better, so thanks, Ortz. I missed that. And I missed you."

They fall silent, just gaze at each other and the features on John's face soften, the blue eyes begin to glow and Randy's heart jumps happily, because here it is again, that spark, this thing between them. The special chemistry. The love… It has never been lost, has only been sleeping. Randy wants to lean in and kiss John, feel his lips again but he knows that it's not the right moment. But he hopes he will be allowed to kiss this man again someday.

Again his phone pipes up and again it is Kim, but he ignores it, says, almost begs: "We could go for a drink."

John shakes his head no, murmurs: "Don't feel like going out."

"Then let's go to the hotel. We can talk or just sit and watch a movie or…"

But again John shakes his head no, smiles regretfully and replies: "Not tonight. You should go to Kim now."

And this time it is Randy who shakes his head no.

"Please give me a reason not to go, Johnny…" Randy says just above a whisper.

The flicker in the beloved baby blues tells him that those words reach deep, touch John, but he can also read in them that John won't give him a reason.

"But you need to go, Ortz. Kim is waiting. She is your girl after all and your relationship isn't a fake."

_But it is, _Randy thinks. _It has never been even close to be as real as we have been._

Running a hand over his hair, he nods ever so slightly and gets up, the spot where their shoulders have touched suddenly feeling cold as he stands there, pondering if he should say it or not. What he really feels. _Still_ feels.

Any doubts about it are wiped away as John suddenly stands up and pulls him into a hug that is gentle but tight and it is so much alike with those they have shared so very often in the past that Randy's whole body begins to hum in bliss. Wrapping his arms around the broad back, it is like refueling himself with _John_. And it feels so good.

"I still love you, Johnny," he whispers, not expecting an answer though.

For the third time his phone makes itself known and eventually they let go of each other and Randy turns around, grabs his duffel bag on his way out and prays that John will call him back any second. But John keeps quiet. And when Randy steps outside and begins to walk down the corridor, he prays that John will follow him, will stop him. But nothing happens. But maybe John really simply needs some time for himself and they also need to fall back into step again first, don't they, now that they just found back on their way together, before they can go back to how it has been.

But the small flame of hope that is sitting in his chest grows a little as he walks out into the night.

x

Except for the sound coming from the TV there is quietness lying over the hotel room as Randy sits on his bed, staring at the big screen absentmindedly. Not even an hour ago it has been bitter words, not quietness that has reigned in here, as this room witnessed as Randy ended what he should never have begun in the first place.

It's over, Kim.

It was all ge got to say, every word that echoed from this walls afterwards had solely been from Kim. Loud, angry, hurt, nasty. He couldn't resent her being pissed, he would have been, too, in her place, but the moment she had put her arms around him back in the parking lot after he had left John, _everything_ in his body protested against her touch. It has been the moment he understood that this wouldn't work anymore. Not after John was back, really back in his life.

He wonders if John is alone now or if Nikki is with him, despite their argument, because as far as he knows they have a room together. If John is thinking about him, too, at the moment? Frowning he glances at his phone, but there is no message, no missed call. His thumb moves to the gallery icon, to a special subfolder. To a very special picture.

John, sleeping peacefully. He has taken it two years ago, has never told John about it. This picture means peace, bliss, happiness for him. Love. Perfection. Over their time together he has spent uncountable hours with watching John sleep and listen to his breathing, touch his soft and warm skin.

"Johnny…" he breathes, smiles and kisses the screen of his phone.

Silly, yeah, but much needed, even if it is only a picture on the cool screen of a phone.

He almost drops the phone as a knock at the door disturbs the quietness and for seconds he only looks over to the door, expecting a sharp voice to tell him to fucking open the door for the next round of nasty words, but there is only a short moment of silence and another knocking following. A soft knocking, an apologizing one.

John.

Randy scrambles out of the bed, almost trips over his own feet as he hurriedly tries to get to the door before John can decide to go again and he doesn't give a flying fuck that he's wearing nothing but skin-tight boxers. If a stanger sees him like this, so be it. The door opens under his hand and he feels the hair on the back of his neck raise in excitement and anticipation as his eyes lock with John's.

John is here. He is really here…

"Don't want to disturb the two of you, but can we talk for a moment?" John asks quietly.

"Kim is not here," Randy simply says. "Come in and feel at home."

"Oh… uhm… If you're alone… can I stay tonight?" John asks sheepishly, gnawing at his bottom lip while waiting for Randy to answer.

Quickly stepping aside, Randy beckons to him to come in.

"Sure," he says and closes the door. "It's only a single bed though," he adds as he walks up to John who stands at said bed, looking at it.

"Snugly," John grins then and Randy can't help but grin, too. "As far as I remember, we've slept in smaller beds together in the past. So… if it's okay for you…?"

Taking John's holdall from his hand, he places it on a nearby chair, before looking back at his… friend… smiling happily.

"I swear, if you snore, I'm gonna steal all of the duvet and you can freeze your ass off, Cena," he warns, because John does snore.

Snore as in cutting down the rainforest.

"You'll hog it anyway, Orton," John snorts and sits down on the bed. "You always do. If you search for Randy Orton, just take a look into the pile of duvets and you'll find him."

With a groan John closes his eyes and lets himself fall backwards, coming to lie spread-eagled. Climbing onto the mattress beside him, Randy braces his hands left and right beside the other man's head and leans over him, taking in the tired features on the other man's face. John doesn't even stir. The fact that John's breath smells of toothpaste tells him that John has been in his own room before coming here.

"Nikki?" he asks quietly.

Watching a shadow cast over those just opening blue eyes is answer enough. But then something shifts in their depths and the shadow is gone, leaving that glow behind he has seen not long ago.

"But she is not the reason I'm here." Randy tilts his head a little, lets his eyes roam the handsome face before locking gazes with John again. He knows John could have gotten himself an own room. But instead he is here and the funny thing is, it almost seems as if John has hoped that Randy is… alone? Coming here with all his stuff... "I feel better when you're around."

The cute little smile that spreads on John's lips almost gets the best of Randy. _Almost_.

"That's good, because I feel better, too, when you're around, Johnny." He feels a soft pat on his side that becomes an equally soft touch as John's hand settles on his side, the hand hot on his bare skin. Maybe John feels it… the pounding of his heart as it hammers against his chest. Just from this little bit of closeness. "You look tired. How about I give you a backrub and then you grab some rest?"

An approving little sound passes John's lips as he closes his eyes and nods slightly.

"Sounds like heaven."

"Then get rid of your clothes and lie down on your belly," Randy says as he gets up from the bed to get some lotion and he winces as he realizes how his words must have sounded to John.

The sound of clothes being falling to the floor is accompanied by quiet sniggering. And because this is John, he finds the other man lying stark naked on the bed when he comes back from the bathroom, because John _always_ sleeps naked.

From having no John to having a naked John lying on his bed within a few hours was good but…

_God is testing me_, Randy thinks as he wills his breathing to stay even and calm at the mouth-watering sight.

John has his face turned towards Randy. An eye cracks open as he doesn't move to come over and a hand is lifted a little, pointing at broad shoulders.

"Backrub, Orton," John says and although his voice is muffled by a pillow, the amusement is audible in it.

_Be grateful that you got your friend back_, he reminds himself as he walks up to the bed and sits hip to hip beside John. _That should be enough for now._

The cool lotion causes a wave of goosebumps to flare over the pale skin and another, much heavier wave runs over it as he touches John's back. He even feels a soft shiver run through the other man as he begins to massage the tense muscles, hears him moan and groan softly. And while waves of goosebumps keep chasing each other over John's skin, Randy's fingertips tingle and his heart whispers in contentment to have this man here, of being allowed to touch him.

"Where's Kim?" John murmurs after a while.

Randy purses his lips, gently runs his thumbs down the thick back muscles along the spine to the small of John's back, before smoothing his palms back up.

"I broke up with her," he soberly states as he brushes his hands over the broad shoulders and back, rubbing small circles along the back of John's neck.

"Huh, so each of us had two matches tonight, huh?" John huffs and shifts, reaches out blindly to fish for Randy's leg and hooks his fingers behind Randy's knee to pull the leg a bit closer.

And the hand stays there.

"Well, actually I'd rather step five times a night in the ring with Roman than one more time with Kim," Randy snorts but it's actually not funny, rather a bitter fact.

A pat on his leg and a low chuckle.

"Can't say the same. I feel like being flattened by a steamroller," he hears John sigh.

"Why haven't you stopped him?"

He winces as John pinches his calf.

"Funny, Orton. Very funny. Want to see him tie a bow into you and then we'll talk again," John growls half-heartedly. "I wanted to but after he went all MMA on me, I somehow… I don't know, I just couldn't do anything. And then he started suplexing me and there was a moment when I thought, great, I'll get out of this with a snapped neck."

"Have you talked to Hunter?" Randy murmurs while working on the only slowly loosening shoulder muscles.

"And tell him what? That Brock was mean to me? He'll ask me if I'm a cry-baby. I bet he'll use this now for the storyline," John grumbles into the pillow, sighs then and adds in a faraway voice: "Feels good, Ortz."

_Yeah, it does feel good. Not only for you._

"The whole WWE Universe will rub that right into your face for months now. Next time don't forget Super-Cena at home," Randy helpfully and totally innocently suggests.

And earns himself another pinch.

"You're an ass, Orton…" he hears John mutter, before he suddenly moves, turning over on his back. A strong hand settles on the back of Randy's neck, the other sneaks to his back, pulling him in until Randy finds his face only a few inches away from John's as he comes more or less to lie on the broad frame. John's voice is a mere breath as he says: "But I love you, Ran."

The world fades out and all there is… is John and what he has just said. Randy's heart skips a few beats and he tries hard to remember how to breathe while he can do nothing but gaze into deep, cerulean eyes which glow and sparkle and speak to him, telling him that this is real. And he needs to see this in John's eyes, because this now, it feels like a dream. A sweet, warm and perfect dream.

"You better do, Johnny," he whispers, because he doesn't trust his voice and even this whisper is shaky. Bringing a hand to John's face, he affectionately trails his fingertips over his friend's cheek, feels one day old beard stubble against his digits and he doesn't think as he speaks, only feels. "Can I kiss you?"

"You never asked me that back then," John whispers back.

Randy's heart begins to drum against his chest almost painfully as he gazes down at John and he feels a sweet ache grow in his chest, feels a shiver run down his spine as his name is being whispered lovingly...

... and then he kisses John, claims those lips he has longed to feel again. He runs his tongue over John's lower lip, gently sucks it into his mouth as he begs silently for permission. With a tiny moan John gives it, opens up for him. Tongues meet half-way in a dance of slow and gentle strokes. It is one of those lazy, loving kisses. A kiss to get lost in. Sweet and bright and sparkling. It bestows Randy a warm tingle in his belly and tiny jolts of electricity and heat where John touches him and he can't help but shift until he lies on top of that body he knows so well. The hold on his neck tightens a little but only to hold him close and the hand on his back roams and brushes down to his ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh. John hooks his legs behind Randy's and hums and Randy feels the hum rumble in the broad chest, feels it vibrate throughout himself and it makes his body sing.

Too soon the kiss breaks, trails of in tiny pecks and when Randy draws back just enough to gaze into the baby blues, he finds undisguised love he hasn't seen there for much too long. And he still can't believe that this is really happening. With a sigh he scoots down a little and rests his head against John's chest, presses as close to him as possible and closes his eyes, savoring this moment.

"How could all of this happen, Johnny?" he says eventually, quietly and hesitant.

John hums again and turns his head to breathe a kiss to Randy's hair.

"I don't know," John replies as quietly and there it is again, the guilt. "All I know is that I'm not gonna let it happen again."

The hand on his ass vanishes and a moment later the duvet it pulled up to Randy's shoulders, before John's hand finds a place on the small of his back. Fingertips wander over his skin tenderly. But although they are lying here together now, wrapped up in each other, there is a desperate little voice in the back of his head that calls for reassurance.

"Promise you're gonna be there when I wake up."

For the briefest of moments the fingers pause their caress.

"I promise I'm gonna be there when you wake up. Every morning from now on… if you want me?" John murmurs and while the fingers go back to making their trails over his skin, the other hand cradles Randy's head.

Randy nips half-heartedly at the nearest patch of skin, muttering: "Do you even have to ask?"

He hears a soft laughter rumble in John's chest and he loves it. Always has.

"Johnny?"

"Mmh?"

"I think I should thank Lesnar. If he hadn't kicked your ass like that I wouldn't have stopped at your locker room, you know? And we wouldn't be lying here now."

"And encourage him to reenact our match from tonight? Don't you dare," John warns, but the soft laughter is still there in his voice.

Silence settles for peaceful moments. Moments in which Randy sends a dozen of thank you's up to heaven. For making him stop at John's locker room and go in there. For making John talk to him. For giving him the guts to break up with Kim. For making John come here. And so, so many more small and not so small things which have happened tonight and will hopefully happen from now on. But above all there is a thank you that they both have never stopped loving each other…

"Johnny?" he murmurs after a while.

"Mmh?"

"I love you, Johnny…"

"Gee, does the world know that you're such a sap, Ortz?"

"Tell anyone and I'll set Lesnar on you, Cena," Randy threatens in the most unthreatening tone the world has ever heard.

He feels John move a little. A kiss is placed on his forehead.

"I love you, too, Ran," John breathes.

The words wrap around his heart like velvet fingers. Quietness falls over the room and ease, heavily laced with contentment. The warmth and the soft caress on the small of his back lulls him, as does the faint but steady heartbeat in the so wonderfully comfy chest his head is resting on and John's scent that fills his senses with every breath he takes. It is not the first time they are lying together like this but somehow… huh, somehow it is the most perfect, prescious moment they have ever shared.

The last thing he knows as slips into a peaceful sleep is John… and the warm and golden shimmer of a happy future together…

* * *

**Reviews are greatly appreciated :)**


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